slumped.
Wells stood over the woman studying her. She'd been shot through the forehead and had tilted forward leaving part of the back of her skull and a good bit of dried brainmatter stuck to the slat of the rocker behind her. She had a newspaper in her lap and she was wearing a cotton robe that was black with dried blood. It was cold in the room. Wells looked around. A second shot had marked a date on a calendar on the wall behind her that was three days hence. You could not help but notice. He looked around the rest of the room. He took a small camera from his jacket pocket and took a couple of pictures of the dead woman and put the camera back in his pocket again. Not what you had in mind at all, was it darling? he told her.
Moss woke in a ward with sheeting hung between him and the bed to his left. A shadowshow of figures there. Voices in Spanish. Dim noises from the street. A motorcycle. A dog. He turned his face on the pillow and looked into the eyes of a man sitting on a metal chair against the wall holding a bouquet of flowers. How are you feeling? the man said.
I've felt better. Who are you?
My name is Carson Wells.
Who are you?
I think you know who I am. I brought you some flowers.
Moss turned his head and lay staring at the ceiling. How many of you people are there?
Well, I'd say there's only one you've got to worry about right now.
You.
Yes.
What about that guy that come to the hotel.
We can talk about him.
Talk then.
I can make him go away.
I can do that myself.
I dont think so.
You're entitled to your opinions.
If Acosta's people hadnt shown up when they did I dont think you would have made out so good.
I didnt make out so good.
Yes you did. You made out extremely well.
Moss turned his head and looked at the man again. How long have you been here?
About an hour.
Just settin there.
Yes.
You dont have much to do, do you?
I like to do one thing at a time, if that's what you mean.
You look dumbern hell settin there.
Wells smiled.
Why dont you put them damn flowers down.
All right.
He rose and laid the bouquet on the bedside table and sat back in the chair again.
Do you know what two centimeters is?
Yeah. It's a measurement.
It's about three quarters of an inch.
All right.
That's the distance that round missed your liver by.
Is that what the doctor told you?
Yes. You know what the liver does?
No.
It keeps you alive. Do you know who the man is who shot you?
Maybe he didnt shoot me. Maybe it was one of the Mexicans.
Do you know who the man is?
No. Am I supposed to?
Because he's not somebody you really want to know. The people he meets tend to have very short futures. Nonexistent, in fact.
Well good for him.
You're not listening. You need to pay attention. This man wont stop looking for you. Even if he gets the money back. It wont make any difference to him. Even if you went to him and gave him the money he would still kill you. Just for having inconvenienced him.
I think I done a little more than inconvenience him.
How do you mean.
I think I hit him.
Why do you think that?
I sprayed double ought buckshot all over him. I cant believe it done him a whole lot of good.
Wells sat back in the chair. He studied Moss. You think you killed him?
I dont know.
Because you didnt. He came out into the street and killed every one of the Mexicans and then went back into the hotel. Like you might go out and get a paper or something.
He didnt kill ever one of them.
He killed the ones that were left.
You tellin me he wasnt hit?
I dont know.
You mean why would you tell me.
If you like.
Is he a buddy of yours?
No.
I thought maybe he was a buddy of yours.
No you didnt. How do you know he's not on his way to Odessa?
Why would he go to Odessa?
To kill your wife.
Moss didnt answer. He lay on the rough linen looking at the ceiling. He was in pain and it was getting worse. You dont know what the hell you're talkin about, he said.
I brought you a couple of photographs.
He rose and laid two photos on the bed and sat back down again. Moss glanced at them. What am I supposed to make of that? he said.
I took those pictures this morning. The woman lived in an apartment on the second floor of one of the buildings you shot up. The body's still there.
You're full of shit.
Wells studied him. He turned and looked out the window. You dont have anything to do with any of this, do you?
No.
You just happened to find the vehicles out there.
I dont know what you're talkin about.
You didnt take the product, did you?
What product.
The heroin. You dont have it.
No. I dont have it.
Wells nodded. He looked thoughtful. Maybe I should ask you what you intend to do.
